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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722480">High Hopes Low Clean Clothes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf'>Goldstone_Wolf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>High Hopes Low (Blank) [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game), High Hopes Low Rolls (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Connor Whitlaw has a bad experience with a horse, It sounds like smut, M/M, Malark knows about horses, Malark teaches Paddy about horses, Mild Injury, Paddy Figures It Out, Paddy learns that horses have feeling in their hooves, You heathens, but it isn't</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:06:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>850</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Malark and Paddy are assigned to clean the horses. Suffice to say, it does not go as planned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malark Dundragon/Paddock "Paddy" Whitlaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>High Hopes Low (Blank) [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>High Hopes Low Clean Clothes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>NO, this is NOT SMUT. Despite the title, it is FIVE AM and I AM NOT WRITING THAT. Like, maybe one day you might get some fluff with a side of no shirts but I don’t write smut. <br/>Now, we’re just going to ignore the fact that High Hopes might just walk everywhere or ride Cuil, and that dragonborns may not be able to ride horses for this fic. Because fluff. Also, fun fact—American Paint Horses (and other pinto, piebald, and/or skewbald types) were believed to be magic by the Native Americans. So if you ever read someone riding a paint/patched horse in my writings, that person has some kind of unusual powers or is in connection with someone who does. Also, the horses in Frozen are actually a breed called the Norwegian Fjord.<br/>Sorry, I like horses and I know random facts about stuff (like how you can tell what era the skeletons from Coco are from by looking at their clothing styles). Anyways—<br/>Into the fray!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>          The day “it” well and truly struck Paddy, he and Malark had been grooming and washing the horses.</p>
<p>          The poor things desperately needed a wash, truth be told. A wash, some pampering, and a <em>lot </em>of treats, which Mina and Terra had been happy to supply (as had the village kids). Of course, since the others were off collecting supplies or on other errands (and since they had a vendetta against Paddy and Malark, it seemed), Paddy and Malark had been assigned to wash and groom the horses.</p>
<p>          Honestly, Paddy didn’t mind.</p>
<p>          Back in Bay Hollow, every spring, the pastures would be full of geldings and mares with their foals. Like pretty much every other kid, he had always tried to get them to come close enough to pet. Ronan had always pulled him away before there was a chance, though, after a traumatic incident for Connor in which he’d had his finger bitten. Paddy himself didn’t remember much, just crying and a lot of blood.</p>
<p>          “Are you okay, Paddy?” Malark’s voice snapped him from his thoughts, and he realised he had stopped brushing the piebald mare Rook rode.</p>
<p>          Blinking, he sent a smile the assassin’s way. “I’m alright, Malark. Just…thinking about the past.”</p>
<p>          Malark made a sound, but didn’t press. He was checking the mare’s legs, running his hands down to her hooves. “Paddy, can I have the hoof pick?”</p>
<p>          “The what?” As he glanced at the tools, Paddy realised that there wasn’t a single label. <em>Oh, no.</em></p>
<p>          “Black handle—no, that’s a curry comb. It’s thin, length of your hand, with a hook at the—that’s it, thank you.” Malark disappeared behind the horse again. Once he’d finished, Paddy set the brush down in the box and walked around to watch him, curious. Malark had done this with the other horses, too (usually, the toolbox was on his side, not Paddy’s).</p>
<p>          “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>          Malark beckoned him over, so he followed. “Not too close to her back, let her know you’re there or she might kick you.” Paddy glanced at the horse, who seemed content for now as she munched on some hay. Malark had one of her hooves in his lap, holding it in one hand and hooking at rocks caught in the horseshoe with the pick. “It’s really just cleaning them. If a rock stays in there too long, the hoof can get infected. No hooves, no horse. Besides, having rocks there is like having a rock in your shoe—not very comfortable.”</p>
<p>          Wincing sympathetically, Paddy tilted his head and mused, “Huh, I didn’t know that. They can actual feel down there, though?” As Malark cleaned some clumped hay away, Paddy flushed a little. “Sorry, dumb question.”</p>
<p>          “No, it’s reasonable. I don’t think most other hooved animals need this.” Nodding, Paddy stood up and went to the toolbox.</p>
<p>          Everything was fine until a door slammed.</p>
<p>          The mare suddenly spooked, rearing up, and Paddy froze. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he just remembered that horses were one of the only animals that wore metal—and that they could cripple a person with a single kick.</p>
<p>          The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, soaking wet, and he couldn’t breathe.</p>
<p>          Someone was holding his head—Malark, he realised. Warm fingers slid over his neck and down his spine, then pressed over his cheeks and around his ears and under his hair. “Wh—what—”</p>
<p>          “No, stay down, you’re okay. Just stay down for a second, you had the wind knocked out of you.” Malark reassured. A warm nose nudged Paddy’s arm, snorting almost nervously. “She’s trying to apologise.”</p>
<p>          Paddy glanced to the side to see the mare beside him. Reaching up, he tried stroking her nose but missed. Malark’s hand cupped his own, gently helped him rub the mare’s cheek. She snorted. With a slight laugh, he mumbled, “It’s okay, you were scared.” His eyes wandered to his clothes, which were caked in mud, hay, and something else. “That’s mud, right?”</p>
<p>          “Mud, hay, and a little manure. Think you can walk?” When he nodded, Malark helped him up, then to lean against the wall as he put the mare away.</p>
<p>          He either passed out or spaced out, because suddenly he was on his bed, Malark coaxing water into his mouth. He’d been changed, the makeup on his face carefully wiped away, and there was a blanket pulled up to his ribs. “Did I…did I pass out?”</p>
<p>          “No, but you might have a concussion.” Malark must have smiled, Paddy saw the corners of his eyes wrinkle a little. When he returned it, Malark added, “We need to let you rest for a few days. So no pranks.”</p>
<p>          “You know you like them!” Malark scoffed, ran a hand through Paddy’s hair to mess it up, and then left mumbling about grabbing food. “Oh, you’re only proving it!”</p>
<p>          Lying back in bed, Paddy couldn’t help but grin at the ceiling. There was something about Malark that he couldn’t quite place a finger on. Sure, it was nice—<em>he </em>was nice and—</p>
<p>          <em>Oh.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>          Oh, no.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And I’m just going to leave this there.<br/>My ORIGINAL plan was to have them mess around with the water and get soaked, but that seemed OoC for Malark (as adorable as it would be, though), and I guess him teaching Paddy about horses and the whump was more prioritized. Poor Paddy. Also, the horse biting Connor is based off something that actually happened to me. I was trying to feed a family friend’s horse a carrot, but I’ve always been short and the horse was trained to take it differently than the way I was holding it, so it accidentally bit my middle right finger. I still have the scar right above my knuckle. Ironically, this wasn’t the first time one of my middle fingers got hurt. When I was three or four, my dog broke my left middle finger (the only bone I have ever broken).<br/>Well, with that anecdote, back into the fray once more!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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